Colors of Solace
by Jamie's Dream
Summary: "It is her, smoldering copper-gold clad in strokes of ashen porcelain, basking in sunshine swirls amidst the bright indigo sea. And the colors catch a glimpse of him too. Their twinkling jade eyes bore into his contrasting dark green that is reminiscent of jealousy: the monster that almost destroyed the young and blithe boy who he was." Hamilton/Amy. one-shot


_Song Choice: "Sunrise on Lake Pontchartrain" by Alexandre Desplat._

_Dedicated to: **muse **(music4evah), because you're always such a darl; **joyce **(Cascading Rainbows), because you've always known how to turn my frown upside down; and to **snow **(Snowstorm xD), for always being there._

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**Colors of Solace**

It is the gentle creaking of the old dock's floorboards and the melodic sound of laughter coming forth from the neighbor's children nearby that subconsciously beckons him time and time again to this magical place. It is a Neverland where orange and liquid gold spill over and transcend above the everyday blackness and morbid grey that cloud his sun, where the vast, glimmering turquoise becomes Solace: his salvation, his sanity. As he sits by the shore, the cerulean waves lap at his feet, neither troubled nor turbulent. They are calm, rhythmic and gentle as they paint each grain of sand with a temporary splendor, humming a susurrus that is a mirror of the soul within – not stirring, just moving.

No longer is he worrying about _their _duplicity and lies, their torment and deceit - for they've become but a faceless pair that hang like a forgotten painting at the back of his mind, finally wearing away like soil on a rainy day. And yet, there is something not quite right, something missing – a piece of a puzzle he spent his whole life so intricately weaving together. He wonders what it is, and in that moment – _though he doesn't know yet_ – he catches but a glimpse of it in the colors of his dismal past, once forgotten, but not anymore.

It is _her, _smoldering copper-gold clad in strokes of ashen porcelain, basking in sunshine swirls amidst the bright indigo sea. And the colors catch a glimpse of him too. Their twinkling jade eyes bore into his contrasting dark green that is reminiscent of jealousy: the monster that almost destroyed the young and blithe boy who he was.

A cold grip overcomes his heart like a vice as he says to them harshly, _What are you doing here?_

He comes off distraught and angry, but he doesn't care. Because this place – _his_ place – is supposed to be a secret, an escape. Yet the colors, all-knowing and wise, merely smile.

_I knew I'd find you here, _they respond with a sad smile that plays upon their lips. The breeze delicately brushes past them and he wishes it would carry them yonder, to a far, far away place.

But it doesn't.

And so they stay and look at him as though he is broken and shattered. But he knows he isn't – or at least, he tells himself just that as they stare at him with eyes that are tainted with the gleaning of what he unknowingly fears.

_I need to tell you something, _they continue, their voice faltering as the silvery radiance that usually hangs around them come to a dim. And for a moment, an instant, his resolve weakens. His eyes betray him to the colors, and they see but a hint of the concern he feels inside. But then anger and hurt blur his vision, and the glimpse of what they saw disappears, dissipating into the blank nothingness that is everywhere.

He yells at them, _Well, I don't care. You've gone your way, I've gone mine. Just leave._

The colors don't move. They stand there in front of him, swathed in all his icy, stygian bitterness. And _it's okay, _for they understand with a wisdom that is a thousand-years-old. They've already expected him to be vexed, and so they merely take but a step closer towards him. They speak with voice that whispers like the gentle wind, with a wish to cease a brewing, inevitable storm.

_But you do care. I saw it in your eyes just a few moments ago, _they say. They place a delicate hand upon his cold shoulder, the jade windows of their soul searching for the truth within his eyes. His hand pushes their touch away as he stands up, filled with an angry fervor that turns his light into a miserable coal. And just when he's about to shout terrible, _terrible _things, he is stopped by the improbable truth he has been unknowingly waiting for all this time.

_You were right. I was wrong, and for that, I'm…I'm sorry, _they plead in all honesty, staring up at him with eyes filled with bitter regret.

And it's in that moment that they painfully begin to churn and smudge along the fine line of what's real and what's not, distorting the once beautiful canvas of reality and dreams. And he's confused because he can't believe what he is hearing at all. He is unsure if all of it is true, for a solemn doubt is stirring within him – telling him that everything is merely a deluded, cruel fantasy. And it toys with his mind, twisting his hopes into that of horror. He takes a step back, staring at them with the face of one who has accepted defeat yet is still defiant to the perils of this lie.

_I don't believe you, _he says, a wounded whisper that gets carried away and lost in the wind._ In fact, I don't exactly know what to believe in anymore. _He closes his eyes for but a moment as somber nightmares resurface and cloud the forefront of his mind. Then they disappear just as swiftly, for he is snapped out of his reverie by a gentle hand of reassurance, a murmur of hope. _I'm telling the truth. I truly am sorry. _

When he opens his eyes, he no longer sees the colors anymore, but a girl whose heart was once his, of she who was the shadow of his dreams.

He sees _her_, breathes her, feels her in all brokenness as she caresses him underneath the honeyed rays of gold, a rare moment of peace that is a diamond in the midst of his dark existence. And slowly, her delicate fingers trace the contours of his cheek as she hesitantly leans her forehead against his. Their lips are but inches apart when she murmurs, _Please, let me…_

In that request, he sees all the strings attached, the outcome that is tethered to his very decision. And though he is still not so sure, still not quite certain if it isn't all a lie, being right _here, _right _now _with her feels so good – like heaven.

His sanity tells him to shout - to punish her for everything that she had done, but...he can't. As he basks in all her warmth, he knows he won't be able to resist, for she is his wish, his hope. If he is to refuse her, then where would he be? Lost.

So tentatively, undecidedly, he gives a small nod as she, almost despairingly, brushes her lips against his with a passion that is reminiscent of a kindled flame. And he is overwhelmed – consumed by it, for it sets fire to his very being.

But this time, he doesn't care, for the pain is not as venomous as he had thought; it is merely like an antiseptic to a wound, and for once, everything in his messed up life suddenly makes sense. His hands unconsciously find their way to the nape of her neck as he continues to relish the caramel sweetness that is her gentle kiss, reminding him of the nights spent whispering their wishes to the shimmering stars that frolic in midnight-blue, of the orange sunsets that blaze the horizon. And her soul, once trapped, is now free as it soars above the sapphire skies that are not hers, nor his - but _theirs - _as the fire within their hearts become one sun.

As he pulls away, the light of day slowly fades as streaks of pink and orange bleed through the fading heavens. She rests her head against his chest, listening to his heart's lullaby as she breathes. The remnants of their woes slip and fade into the never-ending blankness as she murmurs, _I never meant to hurt you. _He presses his lips against her forehead, whispering, _It's okay. __All is forgiven._

And he smiles, a broken smile, but it doesn't matter - for he has finally found the colors of solace.

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**Author's Note:**

Okay, honestly, I'm quite scared this would only appear but a jumbled mess to you. If you're wondering what "the colors" are in the early part of the story, it's actually Amy. Hamilton referring to her as "the colors" is a sort of symbolism of his hurt after Amy left him for another guy (hint: his name starts with an 'I'). You know how whenever somebody hurts you really badly, you can't even think of them as human beings because of the pain they let you go through? Well, that's basically what Ham was doing, but he didn't call her something mean or horrible, because despite how much she hurt him, he still loved her - whether he knew it or not. But towards the end, though, after he realized how sorry she was, he didn't refer to her as "the colors" anymore and forgave her, finally contented, no longer lost. I know it's rather cliché, but after listening to Sunset on Lake Pontchartrain, my mind was practically begging me to write this. If you listened to it while reading, please write "umbrella" (random, I know) somewhere in your review. I just really want to know who were the ones who did. :)

Reviews (Flames, CC, or even just comments) are really appreciated. Have a good day and thanks for reading!

_P.S. Updated as of 9/11 and 9/30, thanks to music4evah :) Musia, I'm not sure if I was able to fix everything you said, but I shall continue to work on it. ;) You be awesome. _


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